Dear Dane,

Balloons have come to be synonymous with celebration. The celebration of birthdays. Of milestones. Of happiness. At Comfort Zone, the balloon release is a celebration of a life that was and the love that still is. These balloons symbolize all of the above. 

Flashback to December. In the find-the-perfect gift chaos of the holidays, I admittedly had a very hard time coming up with something you really needed (never mind a decent surprise). Barring a lifetime supply of insured, Dane-proof computers, you have what you need on the electronics, clothes, sports and hiking equipment, etc. fronts. I aimlessly browsed store aisles. I asked friends what they were getting their similarly aged brothers. I Googled and not-so-subtly asked you for pointers. I was stuck. Then, it hit me: the thing I want you to have more than anything in the world is memories of daddy.

As you know, I was a daddy’s girl through and through. Simply put, daddy’s death devastated me. But the thing that has triggered the majority of my tears over the years – the thing that I don’t think I’ll ever get over –  is the fact that you never got to know him.  I so vividly remember you as a toddler asking where daddy was. I remember you throwing a tantrum in his car, kicking the seat he was supposed to be sitting in asking why we weren’t letting him come home from the hospital. I remember the way you’d watch other dads…the way you’d race into David Nieman’s arms, the way you’d immediately try to play with my friends’ dads and the way you’d sometime climb into strangers’ laps if they resembled daddy. I remember the way in which you completely and utterly broke down at the Comfort Zone bonfire after hearing a rendition of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” I didn’t know whether you knew, but I sat there knowing it was a song that we had listened to in daddy’s car so many times. And then there were all of the times – the piano and band recitals, swim meets, baseball games, plays, literary society meetings, father-son Boy Scout hikes and more – when I knew you were missing him. Yet here we are. You’re 15 and somehow, despite it all, you grew up. You’ve grown into a young man without so many of the rich memories I was so lucky to form in my own 11 years.

While I can’t change it – no matter how much I desperately wish I could – I want to give you the best alternative to knowing him that I can: the chance to know more about him. So, for the past three months, I’ve been journaling…writing down every single (big, small and random) thing I remember about him. But, a few days into writing these things down, daddy’s line of “don’t do things half-assed” played in my head. After asking myself how I could best capture the essence of the person he was, I  began emailing, Facebook messaging, LinkedIn stalking, calling and meeting with people who knew daddy in different capacities at different times throughout his life. I talked to family, friends, co-workers, old roommates, other parents, neighbors, his dentist…the list goes on. They described the man he was. They shared stories. They sent pictures. And, they told me about things that still remind them of him. 

From all of this, I created a website that will automatically post one celebration of daddy’s life each day for a full year. I like to think of it as a year’s worth of missed moments that will help you learn about the undeniably awesome, quirky and special man our dad was. The fact that he gave so many people such vivid memories that they can remember him well over a decade later is astounding. Though nothing can make up for the 4,131 days in which you’ve had to grow up without him, I am hopeful that this can make it sting just a little less. I still consider myself to be so lucky, and I hope you can one day feel the same way. 

You were and still are so loved, Dane. Never ever forget that. Though I give you a hard time, know I am so proud of the compassionate, funny man you are growing into. Daddy would be proud too.

Happy birthday, sweetie.

All my love, all the time.

Sam